Diamonds in the Sky
by me.fergie
Summary: Sebastian Moran is about to die when he is being saved by the person he least expected to see. Because Jim was dead. But he isn't. He is alive, and kicking, and wanting his city back. And he still has clients. Only, not of the nice sort. They are the cruel sort, the kind that even Jim won't be associated with. Can he achieve another miracle by surviving once again?
1. Quelle importance

**This is my attempt at another story. I don't know if I will continue it though, because frankly, I was disappointed with the feed-back on my last story. Anyways, I will put this up here, and then we will see how it goes.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any BBC Sherlock Characters, nor do I own Sebastian Moran. They all belong to the BBC or Sir Conan Doyle. The story is not beta read, and I am not a native speaker of English, so forgive if some things sound wrong to you.  
**

**The title of this story is taken from Rihanna's song _Diamonds._ The title of the chapter is from Serge Gainsbourg's and Brigitte Bardot's _Bonnie and Clyde._I don't own that either (or any of the songs I will use).  
**

* * *

**Chapter One: Quelle importance qu'ils me fassent la peau…**

_Grey walls. _Sherlock _scratches all over the place. This was be where he had been held. Only he would be crazy like that. Well… the good thing is that I won't be here for much longer. The bad thing is that I won't be _around_ for much longer…_

Sebastian Moran was not an idiot. He knew his time was running out. Forty years old, and doomed to die. He would die soon, he knew that. People who did the things he did generally didn't even live to see their forties. That he had managed it was mainly because of one man.

James Moriarty.

If it weren't for him, he would have died at the age of twenty-seven for the first time. In the hands of the Taliban. But James Moriarty had pulled the strings, and Sebastian Moran had survived what nobody could. As it was, Jim had given him thirteen more years to spend on this planet.

But now, nobody could save him anymore.

So, what had happened?

James Moriarty had died, and Sherlock Holmes had survived. It was as easy as that.

And that was something Sebastian Moran just could not accept. Jim Moriarty, the greatest man on this planet, had died. Sebastian had loved the man. Not in that sense, mind you. But Jim had given Sebastian a life, a good life. And for that, Sebastian owed him. And then there was Sebastian's sister, Sorcha. She had loved Jim, the way a woman loved a man, with every fibre of her being. She had left the city after Jim's death, suicide, whatever, and had never come back. Even Sebastian didn't know where she was. He would probably never see her again.

All because of Sherlock Holmes.

And then the man didn't even have the decency to die for real. No, he still lived. And he had taken to dismantle Jim's web, destroy Jim's empire. If by that time Sebastian still hadn't cared, he did when the first wall fell and his lover Gloria had been sent to jail. The woman (or man…) who looked after Jim's prostitutes, made sure they had a good life… Now the girls were without protection. Some bastard would take over.

Sebastian couldn't accept that.

So, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. He would kill Sherlock Holmes.

It had all gone horribly wrong.

For some reason Sebastian couldn't see, Sherlock Holmes had known he would come, and had set him up. He had been caught.

And now he was sitting here in this cell. It wasn't Pentonville Prison. No, he had escaped from Pentonville once; bringing him back there was too risky. _Idiots. I would have never made that escape without Jim. And now that Jim is dead… _Sebastian Moran was doomed.

He knew it was not a coincidence that they had brought him here. The same cell they had kept Jim in when he had been in captivity. It was meant to break his spirits, but, they were already broken. He had, after Jim left, lived for one thing only. And that had been revenge. Now that he had failed in this purpose, he didn't have anything left that could keep his spirits up.

And really, what good would it do him?

They had talked about a trial, but Sebastian knew it wouldn't come to that. As it was, he was in the hands of the government, and they had been fooled too often by Jim to just let him go, or even risk a trial that, although it could not go either way, could become dangerous. Sebastian had once managed to escape a few burly and heavily armed men. And who knew if he still had friends that would help him? Moriarty's web was still huge, and you couldn't trust anybody involved.

So, he would be killed. Shipped to a faraway country and killed and buried there. Somewhere in the desert. It was the safest option. And Sebastian didn't care. He actually preferred it that way. If there was going to be a trial, his sister would know. She would come and try to defend him in court, and thereby put herself in danger. Sorcha Moran was the last person on earth Sebastian Moran wanted to protect. She was safe where she was, because Sebastian was positive there were no records of her ever being involved with Jim.

He raised his head and looked at the carvings in the cell again.

_Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock._

He got up from his chair and limped to the mirror. He ran his fingers over the carving, almost tenderly. Not out of tenderness for Sherlock. But for Jim.

The guards had roughed Sebastian up quite nicely those past weeks. Of course, if they already had their hands on him, there was no reason why they wouldn't try to get information out of him. But Sebastian had just clenched his jaw and said nothing.

The Taliban had tried and failed to break him.

The British Government had tried to get information out of Jim, and they had failed, too. Nobody could make the man do anything that he didn't want to.

And Sebastian owed it to Jim to be just as brave as he was when they had done everything to break him. Jim hadn't broken, and neither had Sebastian. They could try all they wanted, but Sebastian would hold his head high.

They hadn't done to him what they had done to Jim. Not that it would have made any difference. But Mycroft Holmes had stepped in just at the right moment, had stopped them. Sebastian had to give the man credit: he wasn't one of them. He was a better man. He did what he had to do, but he wouldn't sink that low. In other circumstances, Sebastian would have respected Mycroft, maybe even liked him. But as it was, Mycroft hadn't been there to stop _it_ happening to Jim, and that was something Sebastian Moran could not forgive.

And Mycroft had no reason to grieve as the person who mattered most to him was still alive.

No, there was no way Sebastian could ever respect Mycroft Holmes.

He limped through the cell. Sebastian had never seen the surveillance tapes of Jim's sessions. He knew Sorcha had them stashed somewhere. She had told him one night. She had taken them, for the same reasons she had taken the smelly and stained shirt he had been wearing during his stay with the government. It was the only record of Jim she had. There were no other pictures of Jim but these videos. All the clothes he had owned were dry-cleaned except for this one shirt. And no gravesite to mourn for him. She had nothing left but the things that would remind her of how he had been tortured so vilely.

The guards had shown him the videos of his boss being beaten, tortured, cut, burnt, starved, waterboarded, denailed and finally raped on loop every night. To break him. Then they had recreated for him the scenes he had been shown. It had been vicious, so vicious that now Sebastian was actually welcoming death. Finally, it would be over.

He wouldn't have to see Jim suffer anymore.

* * *

It was Joel that opened the door. "Hey, scum." Sebastian didn't even raise his head as he got up. "Hands behind your back." Sebastian complied. Joel fastened the handcuffs tightly, just as he did with the cuffs around Sebastian's ankles. "I hear you are scheduled for a nice trip into the sun. One way, though." He looked around. "Ah, no new decorations… I hoped you would be a little more fun. Do you know that we never really cleaned this cell? Basically, all the blood you see is still Moriarty's. The blood on the mattress is, too. I loved to watch him bleed. From my punches. Just as I loved hearing your bones shattering under my kicks… I will truly miss you, _Colonel._" He all but spat the last word. "Now come… The car is waiting."

He placed his hand on Sebastian's shoulder and guided him out. Many stairs… the cell was well under the ground. And then, stars in the darkened sky. The stars were shining brightly over London tonight. How funny. They wouldn't even give him one last look at the sun. He had always loved the sun, since he had been in Afghanistan. Dying in the desert wasn't such a bad idea, really.

Joel guided him to the car. Sebastian was the only captive. The rest of the passengers were guards, heavily armed, ready to beat him into submission should he dare an escape.

But Sebastian didn't even try. He didn't have any fight left. Jim Moriarty dead. His sister gone. Gloria in jail. There was no one left for whom Sebastian Moran could fight but himself. And, as he had failed to save Jim, he found that he wasn't worth surviving. So, why fight?

The car started driving. Out of the city. Sebastian turned his head as he saw the lights of London Eye slowly get smaller. He had loved this city. Jim Moriarty's playground. He had owned it. And now it was without a leader. The master dead, the second-in-command about to die as well.

The city was doomed.

* * *

**Now it's your turn. Let me know you want to read more. This is not meant to be a one shot.  
**


	2. When a tornado meets a volcano

**Disclaimer: see Chapter One  
**

**Title: From Rihanna's and Eminem's _Love the way you lie Part One._  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: When a tornado meets a volcano**

Sebastian didn't follow the conversation as he saw London disappear through the windows. The guys were talking about anything and everything: football, food, the Royal Family, Downtown Abbey… Sebastian rolled his eyes. Jim had really been right all the time; ordinary people were just plain annoying. If this had been him with Jim, they would have talked plots and schemes and weapons and bombes. With Sorcha, they would have talked Jim. With Gloria… well, sometimes action did speak louder than words. But everything would have been more interesting than to listen to these… failures. He seriously contemplated trying an escape just so there would be something happening. He seriously contemplated knocking the shite out of one of the guys just so they would shoot him and end this bloody torture.

Apparently Joel was bored, too, "So, Moran, what do you think? Will it be shooting, hanging, or will we just throw you out and let you starve? Any preferences?"

Sebastian slowly turned his head to face Joel, "Really, anything if you are not around."

Joel chuckled, "You still think you are so much better than we are, Moran, don't you?"

Sebastian nodded, "That is exactly what I think."

"You had a go at civilians. Tell me, how did it feel to skin that poor Afghan beggar? Good, I bet? I actually asked Mr Holmes if I could skin you. He wouldn't allow me with Moriarty, but I thought, with you, maybe…"

"Obviously not."

"No, unfortunately he thought we shouldn't sink that low. Although I can't say he sounded like he thought you wouldn't deserve it. Personally I think that you deserve it. I wanted my children to join the army. My son was sixteen when he saw what you did on the telly. He was disgusted. Now he works in the City. Twenty-six years old, and about to have his first heart attack from all the pressure."

Sebastian took a deep breath; at the age of twenty-six, Sebastian had been captured by the Taliban. A young soldier, doomed to die a most painful death. And Jim? At the age of twenty-six, Jim had survived through more than most people had to all their lives. And Joel's poor son was sitting in the city, probably earning a fortune. "I am sorry to hear that. But he could always start working for Mr Holmes. I hear he's not really picky about what scum he hires."

"You think _I_ am scum?"

"I do." Sebastian lowered his voice, "You think what I did to that Afghan shit was bad. But I was following orders, even if nobody believed me. I had reason to believe the man was there to spy on my unit, which I swore to protect."

"I swore to protect my country."

"You did. But you lost sight of that. I talked to James Moriarty. He told me that at some point, he noticed that you couldn't care less about your country; you just wanted to hurt him. That was never once my intention when I was in Afghanistan. I never meant to hurt these people. You wanted to shatter Jim Moriarty."

Joel was silent for a few seconds, than he smirked, "Did I succeed, then?"

Sebastian chuckled, "Not in the least."

"Shame. You know, I think we could actually make a detour." Joel approached Sebastian, "Mycroft Holmes would never find out if I do to you what I did to your boss. I know he forbade me to do it when you were still with us… but since you are about to die anyways…" He placed his hand on Sebastian's knee. "I have found out along the way that even Mycroft Holmes does not find out everything."

Sebastian could have told him he was mistaken. From Sorcha, he had heard that a single glance at Jim had been enough for Mycroft to know what had happened. Okay, Mycroft Holmes would not get another glance at Sebastian Moran's body, but Sebastian was sure, one way or another, Mycroft would find out everything he needed to know. Only the fact that Jim had people working right under Mycroft's nose had never even occurred to the man. Holmesian arrogance, perhaps.

But Sebastian didn't tell him. Instead, he said, "Do what thou wilt. It will be an honour for me to share the fate of the best man that ever walked this planet."

Joel smiled, "A faithful soldier through and through, aren't you, Moran? Those are the most fun, anyways. James Moriarty could have given several hard men a run for their money. I have to admit it was impressive, seeing him take all what we had in store for him and barely batting his beautiful eyelashes… Let's see if you can take it just as well." He knocked on the window that went to the driver's cabin. "Michael? When we arrive at the airport, can you park the car somewhere quiet? We're going to have a little one-on-one with Colonel Moran here…"

"Just about there, Boss." A thick Welsh accent answered. "Do I get a chance to wank off, too?"

"Sure, matey." Joel turned to Sebastian, "Well, who would've thought that? But don't worry, the accent fools you, the bloke is rather small." He grinned. "So, you ever had it up the arse, Moran? I love a virgin. That was what was good about Moriarty, you know? He had an arse to die for. And so very tight that I could actually feel when it tore open."

If Sebastian hadn't been shackled to the bench, this would have been the moment where he had punched the shite out of Joel. Till the very end of his days, Sebastian had noticed, Jim's rectum had never recovered from the assault. And how it had hurt Sorcha to see her man (for, to Sorcha, Jim had been her man, even if she had never been his woman) in pain like this. And seeing both Sorcha and Jim in pain had been more than even Sebastian could have handled. But as it was, Sebastian was shackled to the bench, so all he could do was grit his teeth.

And then the car came to a halt. Joel shouted, "Anybody around?"

"No, sir." was the answer from Michael. "All quiet, just our plane waiting for us."

Joel grinned. "Good." He turned to the other men. "I trust that what is about to happen will remain between the five of us?" They only nodded. "Good. Then take of the cuffs, get him onto his knees, and shackle his hands back on the bench." They were silent. There was no need for shouting anyways, as Sebastian complied without even uttering a sound. Joel whistled, "I have to admit I am impressed, Moran. Not even showing a twinge of fear, just like your boss… let's see if you manage to swallow down your tears and my cum as well as he did."

Sebastian remained on his knees when the men discussed on who should get the first go at him. He didn't react when the door opened and the driver got in as well and joined the planning. Sebastian didn't listen much. He knew what would happen; he had seen them doing it to Jim.

Now he could feel Joel running his hand over Sebastian's back, "You're actually damn fine, Moran. I like them blond. Like them ancient warriors, you know. Like that guy from the Nibelungs… what was his name… Sieg…"

Joel never finished his sentence. A loud bang, and suddenly his weight was all on Sebastian, blood dripping down next to his head.

Four more shots. Four more bodies going down.

And then a voice, next to his ear, "Such a faithful soldier, you are, Sebastian…"

Sebastian froze. That voice… and then there was the smell. Gunpowder. Blood. Black coffee, so bitter you could smell it. _Le male. _Joel's body was lifted off his and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. Sebastian was trembling in his chains as he turned his head.

And looked into the deepest brown eyes that the world had ever seen. That _he_ had ever seen. For three years now he had lived without them, had thought he would never once drown into them again, cringe when they looked angry, and smile when they shone.

And now they were looking back at him, sparkling, "You just made Daddy very proud, Sebastian."

Sebastian's throat was suddenly very dry when he said, "Jim…" The driver. He was wearing the exact same clothes he had worn when he had driven the cab with Sherlock in it. "Jim…"

"Yes, it's me… Now, I understand that this must come as a shock to you, but… I. am. alive."

Sebastian shook his head, "No… no… this can't be…"

"Get a grip on yourself, Colonel!" Jim slapped him. "There's security all over the place, and I am dead sure they've heard the gunshots. If you want me to survive for just a tad longer, we need to go." Jim walked over to Joel's body, gave it a slight kick so it rolled on his back and rummaged through the pockets for the keys. "I hope you don't intend to punch me as soon as I've freed you, Moran."

Sebastian still couldn't believe his eyes. But if this was in fact Jim… "James?"

"Seb?" Jim turned to him. His black hair was hidden under a cap. He had had lost weight, and there were shadows under his eyes. "What is it?"

"You wouldn't be so cruel to me, would you?"

And there was the smile, "No, Sebastian. I am alive. And now, you and I are leaving this car, leaving this airport, and then we will take my city back." He knelt down behind Sebastian and opened the cuffs.

Sebastian sat up straight and rubbed his wrists, his eyes still fixed on the face he thought he would never see again. "You know I will punch you eventually."

"I wouldn't risk me breaking your fingers for doing that if I were you, love. I would think you will need them soon again. And what good is a sniper with broken fingers?"


	3. Palms raised to the universe…

**Disclaimer: see Chapter One  
**

**Title: from Rihanna's _Diamonds_  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Palms raised to the universe…**

Sebastian was in a daze. As he sat in the passenger's seat, watching Jim as he drove the van back into the city, the backroom of it filled with dead people, he couldn't hide the fact that he was trembling. Trembling, with fear, fear of waking up from this beautiful nightmare, shaking with the realisation that, if all of this was true, he would not die tonight and… he would work for Jim again. If this was really Jim, if Sebastian was really awake, and not drugged. They had tried their best to break him. Sebastian thought they couldn't, that all their efforts were in vain. But he realized now, that, if they had drugged him, that if he would wake up and there was no Jim next to him after he had felt this bliss for the last hour… that would break him.

Suddenly the car came to a halt. The man in the driver's seat turned to him, "We will need to change cars now. Do you think you can walk?" Sebastian didn't even nod. He just got out of the vehicle and closed the door behind himself. With his legs still trembling, he walked to the black Volkswagen that was parked a few meters away from the spot where the van stood now. Jim, if it was really Jim, opened the backdoor. For a long moment, he stood there, not moving, just watching, watching the dead bodies. Then he turned away and went to the Volkswagen. Sebastian saw that he had lowered his head. He opened the door and slid on the passenger's seat as Jim sat down on the driver's seat.

On their way to Tottenham, the only words Jim said were, "Two down, now. Four more to go."

And at that moment Sebastian realized that this, beautiful as it was, unreal as it seemed, was not a dream. It was reality.

James Moriarty was alive.

* * *

The flat in Tottenham was small, and so different from where they had lived before Jim had died, but it couldn't be denied that Jim had put his spell on the flat. Sebastian felt at home immediately. It smelled of Jim, it felt like Jim.

Now, the owner of the flat took off his cap and jacket. "Tea?"

"Whiskey."

Jim brought him a glass, filled with whiskey up to the brink. Sebastian downed it in one go. It tasted like heaven. _Ladybank Single Malt._ The same whiskey Jim had offered him after Sebastian had killed Matthew Durkan.

Jim held his arms open wide, "You can punch me now, if you want. I guess I deserve that much. I promise I won't break your fingers."

Sebastian actually felt his fingers twitching. He put the empty glass on the table and made a few steps until he stood right before Jim, so close he could feel the heat from the man's body on his own. Slowly, he raised his hand to Jim's face and touched it. Jim didn't move, didn't even lower his gaze, even though his sniper could violently punch his face any second.

But Sebastian didn't punch him. He just rested his fingers on Jim's cheek for a moment. Then he took a step back, and lowered his head, "Colonel Moran, at your service, Mr Moriarty."

Jim frowned, "Wow. I actually expected you'd bash my teeth in." Then he raised his hand to a salute. "Glad to have you back, Moran. Sit down. No need to be posh; I've seen your naked arse after all. Gotta hand it to Gloria, she was right when she said it looked like the arse of a statue of a Greek God."

Sebastian actually blushed, "I think Joel liked it, too."

"Yeah, Joel was into arses a lot." Jim poured himself a glass of whiskey as well. "I have to admit, Sebastian, I really am proud. You acted just like I expected you to act. Quiet and dignified. Even when you thought I was dead you didn't sell me out."

"You know I would." Sebastian looked at Jim. "You look older."

"Well, it's been three years, Sebastian. You look older, too."

"Where were you? Why aren't you dead?" It was the question everybody would've asked, yet it sounded so… weird to ask a question like that.

Jim grinned, "Because it was the wrong day to die."

"How did you do it?"

"I pulled the greatest magic trick ever."

"I thought the greatest magic trick was the devil that convinced the world he didn't exist?"

Jim chuckled, "That's what I did, now, isn't it? For three years, I didn't exist. Abracadabra."

Sebastian didn't ask anymore. If Jim wanted to tell him, he would. If not, well, it didn't change the fact that Jim was here, and that was really the only thing that mattered. But still, Jim looked bad. Now, in the light of their flat, he looked even older, the bags under his eyes darker, and his frame was just as thin as it had been when they had released him from captivity. Sebastian was sure he would have been able to lift the man off the ground with one arm only. But his eyes, his eyes were sparkling. Alive. He was alive. _He is alive. He is back with me._ "Where have you been those last years, then? You know Holmes is alive, right?"

"Of course. Did you never wonder why he didn't catch you? I threw many people under the wagon to distract him from you long enough so you could prepare your revenge."

"So, you have been watching me? All those years?"

"Of course." As if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. Because you were dead? Because you didn't care about me when you offed yourself, so why would you care what happened to me after your "death"?"

"Because I didn't want you to end up in jail. So I followed you all over Europe, when you followed Sherlock, protected you from the authorities, called in many favours… you know, the things I do for you."

"I am touched." Sebastian felt the whiskey kicking in, after so many weeks of teetotalism; he was getting brave. "You fucking broke my heart, James. I thought you were dead!"

"Want to punch me now, don't you?" Jim grinned. "Go ahead, I won't stop you. I'm glad to see they didn't break your spirits. My brave soldier boy."

"Stop that shite, James. I'm not going to punch you. And not only me. Sorcha?"

That stopped Jim's smile. "She's fine."

"How do you know?"

"Do you really think I would leave any of you two alone? I had somebody looking after her. One of my girls. Stella, you know the one with the scar? She's been following Sorcha for three years."

Sebastian froze; he hadn't heard from his sister in three years, "How is she? Is she well?"

"Yes…" Jim smiled. "As well as can be. She's in Dublin, and she works there as a lawyer. Actually, I think me dying was good for her. She went over to the good side. She's been defending people in court that don't have the money to defend themselves. You know… prostitutes, beggars, rent-boys... Apparently for free. She actually defended Stella, I have to admit that was a brilliant move of her, and Sorcha never charged her a dime. I think all the money I left you guys with really was well invested here."

"So, she is alright?"

Jim nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Although Stella told me she still doesn't date."

"I see… you know why she does that? Defending rent-boys in court?"

Again, Jim nodded, "Yeah, I know why. Because she could never defend me, she defends every other rent-boy on this planet. Anyways, you were saying?"

"…that you fucking broke both our hearts when you killed yourself. And now you come back, and, what? What will happen now?"

Jim actually seemed surprised about that question, "What will happen now? I'm going to get my city back of course, that's what's going to happen."

"Both Holmes brothers will know you're alive."

"Let's be honest. Both of them can guess it already. And I am pretty sure at least Mycroft will be relieved. With Charlie Milverton being the baddest man in the whole damn town now…"

"Wait, Charlie Milverton?" Oh, how Sebastian hated the man. The man who had ruined his career. He and his brother. Probably the only pair he hated more than the Holmes brothers.

"Yah. And really, Milverton is, to Mycroft at least, much more dangerous, and much more difficult to get a hold on. Mycroft will be happy to know that I can at least keep an eye on him."

"And as long as you don't go after Sherlock again."

Jim shook his head, "No, Sherlock and I are over. I won't go after him. I will get my city back and rule over it, and try to avoid messing with the Holmes brothers. It's just you and me, Sebbie. And London at our feet."

"Just you and me? Not Sorcha?"

"No. I think it would be better for her if she believes me dead. Her obsession was a bit unhealthy."

"Yeah, you should know…" Sebastian couldn't help but laugh. He didn't like the fact that his sister would continue grieving for Jim, but in the end, Jim was right. His sister's obsession with the crazy Irish man was more than unhealthy, and it would probably be better if she never knew her love was still alive and kicking. "Okay. I think you're right." He smiled. "I'm surprised that you care so much about her feelings, though."

"Well, I think after all the shite I piled on her during those last twenty years, and she never once turned away from me, she deserves peace of mind." Jim took the whiskey bottle and filled both their glasses. "So, Sebbie, to you and me…"

Sebastian raised his glass, "To you and me, boss."

* * *

Sweet reunion...


	4. …as we moonshine and molly…

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One**

**Title: from Rihanna's _Diamonds_**

* * *

**Chapter Four: …as we moonshine and molly…**

Sebastian thoroughly enjoyed himself being back with Jim. Only two days after the reunion, Jim sent him on his first kill, and it had felt just brilliant, to have his hands back on a sniper rifle. They were small cases, clients with boring problems, but for the first time ever, Jim didn't _seem_ bored. He fixed the problems with ease, but he didn't once look like he would strangle a client because they bored him. It was a relief for Sebastian to see that Jim really didn't seem to want to catch Sherlock's or Mycroft's attention. Finally, it looked like Jim had gotten over his obsession. And why not? He had beaten Sherlock in the end. Okay, a considerable part of Jim's net was destroyed, but Jim still had his most valuable man with him, snatched him away right under Mycroft's nose, and to Jim, that was a victory in itself. How could Mycroft even begin to think he could beat James Moriarty?

About a month later, Sebastian had just staged a robbery for Jim (the best method to hide a bullet wound was to simply bash the head of the victim in), his phone rang. Since Sorcha was not around anymore, Sebastian had taken over her job, organizing Jim's schedule and sorting out clients. It was a nightmare; he had no idea what could be interesting to Jim.

But this call here seemed like trouble from the beginning on.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Good evening, sir. I would like to speak to James Moriarty please."

Sebastian didn't know the voice, but he recognized the accent, even though it was very faint. But some things just burn themselves into your memory. And hearing an accent like this while having the shite tortured out of you, it was bound to burn itself into every inch of your memory.

Afghans.

"Mr Moriarty doesn't speak to clients. How did you get this number?"

"From a good friend of mine. Now, I don't like playing games. Let me speak to Mr Moriarty."

"Sorry mate, that's not going to happen." Sebastian hung up. He knew he wasn't supposed to be harsh to clients; Jim had lost most of his money with his attempts to keep Sebastian safe, and he needed the work. But Sebastian, for once, trusted his own judgement, and he felt that Afghans weren't worth the trouble.

* * *

When he got home, however, he noticed the trouble was far from being over. Three men, their faces covered with scarfs, were standing in Jim's office. They immediately turned around when Sebastian entered, but Jim said, "Touch him, and I won't even listen to the deal you're proposing…" They didn't make a move, but Sebastian felt the tension. They had probably expected to meet Jim here alone, as it was normally the case, when Sebastian was out on a job. That was why there were only three of them. Not that three of them were enough to fight James Moriarty if the man was cornered. Jim would have been able to fight even Mycroft's men, and they were six, if he hadn't been chained up. Three weren't really a match. But now that Sebastian, a trained soldier with a massive hatred for Afghans, was there, the three men probably knew that they wouldn't make it out of this room alive if they made a move. Sebastian remained standing at the door, waiting for orders from his boss.

Jim, who sat in his chair, his legs crossed, just nodded, which meant for Sebastian to stay right where he was, blocking the door for the Afghans. "So, you were saying?"

"Ten thousand dollars for each victim, Mr Moriarty. We know you need the money. We have sources."

"I see. Would you be so kind as to repeat your offer, now that my associate has arrived? I'm sure he wants to hear all the gory details."

The man who seemed to be the leader glanced at Sebastian. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Sebastian was sure he did. The name Moran was still known all over the country, and so was his story. The story of how he had been set free by the Taliban more than ten years ago, and no one knew how it happened. Sebastian knew. It had been Jim. But no one else knew. And certainly, those guys didn't.

So Sebastian smiled, revealing his cracked front tooth, and said, "Colonel Sebastian Moran. Salam. And yes, I would love to hear all the gory details. I didn't catch your name, though."

"I am Fariad." The man said. Then he turned back to Jim, "As I was saying, we are planning an attack on the city. And we want your help. We all know you own this city, and that you know where to strike so it really hurts."

"I'm sure you know, too." Jim answered.

"We are but a small community. We know where we want the bombs, but we want you on our side. And we know you need money, after Sherlock Holmes took down your web. We will all profit from this deal. You say you solve people's problems. Help us with ours."

"And you say ten thousand dollars for every victim? If you have that much money, why do you need me? I'm sure you can find yourself some decent bombmakers." Jim asked. It was obvious to Sebastian that he had no intention on closing a deal with them. This was Jim Moriarty getting information to strike against the Afghans, not the city. But only someone close to Jim would know that.

"Of course, but we want someone we can trust. And you have a reputation. That gas leak in Baker Street four years ago? North Leeds that same week? You are an absolute pro, Mr Moriarty. The elements bow to your will, and we want that. Bombmakers can create bombs, yes. You can create havoc. Wreak havoc on London for us, sir."

Jim's lips had formed into a smile at that speech. Many had tried to flatter him before, but no one had done in such a poetic way. Ruler of the elements. Very Gandalf. But Jim wasn't won over by flattery, or by money. "You need to give me more."

Fariad frowned, "What more?"

"I don't know. Surprise me. If I plant my little bombs all around the city, I sure need more." Jim leaned back in his chair. "For instance, why do you want to do this?"

"Isn't it obvious? You of all people should know why."

"Enlighten me." But something had changed in Jim. He was suddenly not bored anymore, but very much alert.

"The English go around and torture people for the fun of it. My people. Good Afghan people, who are being tortured just because of their nationality. You should understand. You're Irish. Have the English never made fun of you?"

Sebastian noticed Jim relaxed again. So they didn't know about his stay with the government.

Jim licked his lower lip. Then he got up from his chair, and Sebastian noticed that all three of the men made a step backwards. Jim put on his most evil grin and said, "Fariad, or whatever your name was, I am really flattered, but I'll have to refuse your offer."

The men stood there, and it took Fariad a while before he could say another word, "Why?"

"Well, for starters, I'm not an idiot. As you have pointed out, this is my city. So why would I destroy it? Then, I would be completely mad to work with you. You would fuck me over at the first opportunity and sell me to the government. Besides, correct me if I am wrong, but aren't you people known to blow yourselves up if you're committing a terrorist act in the name of your God? You are just a sorry group of little troublemakers, and I have no intention to help you. So, have a nice day."

Fariad had blushed a violent shade of red, "You don't seem to…"

Jim tilted his head and looked at Sebastian. Sebastian coughed and said, "You heard what Mr Moriarty says; you're to leave. Or do I have to make you?" He pulled his hands out of his pockets and cracked his knuckles. "On the count of three…" Fariad didn't wait, but motioned his men to leave with him. As the door closed, Sebastian grinned, "Seems they do know me after all." He turned to Jim, "Everything okay?"

"Sure." But Jim looked gloomy. "I fear we just made a mistake in letting them walk. We should have killed them."

"There's still time. I can run after them."

"No, not you alone. Who knows how many people are outside?"

Sebastian nodded, "You're right. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"A glass of whiskey, thanks."

Sebastian poured two and sat down on Jim's desk. "Why did you refuse?"

Jim frowned, "Why are you sitting on my desk? You're not Fran Fine."

"Sorry…"

"Your sister did that, too. If you want to do it, please have the decency to wear a short skirt." Before Sebastian could threaten him with murder, he said, "Why did I refuse? Because, as I said, I would be an idiot to destroy my playground. Besides, I don't socialize with terrorists. And of course…" He grinned, "They wanted me to blow up things. Blowing things up is my signature. Mycroft would recognize it immediately. And I promised you that I would not get into Mycroft's focus again."

"Well, I am touched. How are we gonna stop them from going to somebody else, then?"

Jim shrugged, "The usual. I will call my supplier and tell her to tell the others to not work with them. But of course, I cannot stop them from going on the internet and make some bombs themselves. Maybe somebody should tip off Mycroft…"

"Not you!" Sebastian immediately said. "If you can't trust anybody with that matter, trust me, I will do it. But not you."

"Not you either, Sebastian." Jim scratched his head. "How about Ashley?" Ashley was, in Sebastian's humble opinion, the hottest of Jim's girls. She could have made a career as a model, or actress, or dancer. Instead, she had decided to become a prostitute. Sebastian had never understood why. "She has this guy amongst her clients, hasn't she? Mycroft's friend? The guy who was there when Mycroft let me go? Harry Something?"

"I don't know. She used to, yeah. Things have gone downhill since Gloria…"

Jim nodded, "I can see that. I will get her out soon, though, don't worry." He picked up his phone and handed it to Sebastian, "Call Ashley. Tell her to tell Harry Mycroft should be careful, that there are some Afghans planning an attack. One of them goes by the name of Fariad."

"And if Harry asks why she knows about that?"

"Because she slept with the guy. Men do brag all the time. Remember that guy who bragged to Adler about that plane?"

"How could I forget that? That Jumbo Jet message to Mycroft wasn't one of your smartest moves… Yeah, Ashley? This is Sebastian Moran. Yeah, I'm fine. Listen…" He told her what she needed to know. "Can you do that for me?" He blushed. "That is really sweet of you, Ashley. I will give you an extra thousand quid this month. Bye…"

Jim grinned, "What did she say?"

"That she would lick my sweaty body if I asked her too, so this would be a piece of cake for her. What is it with those girls?"

"I've heard that before. Your sister…"

"Careful now, James…"

"Oh come on, you know we had sex."

"Yeah, but I really don't want to know all the details of what you had her do…"

Jim frowned, "You think I am a bastard? It was all consensual. Apart from me drugging her before I left to die, but that was entirely to protect her…" He paused, "Was she mad? At me?"

"Well, she called you "moron" and "son of a bitch", but that was before I told her you were dead. Then she was… devastated." He sighed. "She really loved you, you know."

"I do, yeah. And believe me… some moments, I wish I could have loved her back. We could have set the world on fire." Jim looked out of the window for a second. "Last week, she defended a rent-boy. Sixteen years old. Just as young as I was when I started. A client had overstepped some boundaries and beaten the living crap out of the kid, until the little one took a knife and injured that pervert. Stella told me Sorcha actually cried a lot while she was preparing her defence. She's better off without me, I think we can agree on that."

Sebastian nodded, "Yeah. I think so." He got up. "If you don't mind, I'll step outside for a fag and check if there's some dodgy people around. I'll be right back."

"Yeah, thanks, Seb. Take care."


	5. And it turned into a Ballroom Blitz

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

**Title: taken from The Sweet's _Ballroom Blitz_**

* * *

**Chapter Five: And it turned into a Ballroom Blitz**

"Really? _Don Giovanni_?" Sebastian frowned.

"Sure, why not?" Jim looked at the tickets. "It's a nice opera."

"It's terribly long, isn't it? Can we just go watch a concert of… I don't know, some rock concert or something?"

"Oh, could you stop behaving like an ape? I seem to remember your parents liked Shakespeare, and you can't even go to an opera with me. You're my bodyguard, you're supposed to do things you don't like to protect me."

"I never really agreed on that point, though." Sebastian sighed. "But yeah, okay. Of course I'll go with you. Just forgive me if I fall asleep during the performance."

It was worse than Sebastian had imagined it. Fat people singing, and it was sooooo darn long. But Jim enjoyed himself. Sebastian was extremely grateful when it was time for the first break, and he could get himself a glass of champagne. After the third, he nudged Jim. "I'll be stepping outside for a moment. Have a cigarette. Think you can cope on your own for a few moments?"

"Sure, go ahead." Jim took a sip from his own champagne. "You know these things will eventually kill you?"

"Yeah, but being with you will get me killed much earlier." Sebastian grinned and left.

Outside, he went for the nearest alley. Although he had changed his appearance, there was still a chance somebody could recognize him. He had avoided smiling all evening, and he was wearing a dark haired wig, but still. His face was still plastered all over the newspapers, and standing in between all those other smokers that wanted to chat with other smokers, he didn't feel at ease. So he hid in the alley.

And when he heard the shuffling, it was already too late. His last thought before losing consciousness was Jim.

* * *

When Jim woke up, he was bound to a chair. He moaned quietly and tried to remember what had happened. Sebastian had gone out for a fag, he had gone to the loo. That was the last thing he remembered. Sebastian, where was Sebastian? He dreaded opening his eyes for fear of what he would see. Maybe Mycroft had understood where the hint about the terrorist cell had come from? Maybe Mycroft had people everywhere, and they had seen him at the opera, and now he was back in this fucking hellhole where they had shattered him so completely. No, he didn't want to see that. But… Sebastian… He needed to know where Sebastian was. So, he slowly opened his eyes, preparing for the worst.

He was alone in what looked like a cellar. Bound to a chair. His suit was ripped, and he was apparently gagged with his own tie. His head ached. He tried the ropes around his hands, but they wouldn't give way. He then slowly turned his head. And there, in the corner of the room, hands bound behind his back and lying on his front, was Sebastian. Jim watched him for a few moments. He was relieved when he saw the man was breathing. Then he tilted back his head and took a few breaths. It had been a while since he had last been tortured. He knew that, whatever they wanted, they wouldn't get it. Normally. But whoever they were, they had one big advantage to the government. Sebastian. If they threatened Sebastian, Jim would give them what they wanted. He had hurt his sniper so much by faking death, he owed him that much. And already three years ago, he would have given Mycroft anything he had wanted if Mycroft had just thought of bringing Sebastian and Sorcha into the game. Mycroft hadn't, and Jim hoped those people that had him now wouldn't do that either.

It wasn't long before somebody came in. Jim counted eight people. He took another deep breath and braced himself for what was to come. Then he smiled, "I hope you have a good reason for dragging me out of _Don Giovanni_."

"We most certainly do, Mr Moriarty." Afghan accent. "I hear you refused our little offer… and not only that. But some of my most valuable men have been… caught by the government… after the meeting. We got our hands on some boy from the government… who told us some whore tipped them off. And I seem to remember who owns the whores… which makes me think that you told the girl to tip them off… am I correct?"

Jim tilted his head, "I would applaud you if my hands weren't tied."

"You seem to not be aware of the seriousness of this situation, Mr Moriarty." The man leaned in so that his face was just in front of Jim's. "I don't like people messing up my plans. And especially not some stupid ponce like you."

"I'm shaking. So, what are you gonna do now? Try and convince me to help you after all? You can stop right there, sugar, because that's not going to happen." Jim felt the familiar prickling on his neck. A feeling he had missed for so long. He had felt it, the moments before he had killed Joel to save Sebastian. But before that… And now it was back, and Jim felt more alive than he had in years. "So you better save yourself the trouble and let me and my sniper go."

"_That_, my friend, is not going to happen. But I will tell you what we will do. We will beat the living crap out of you…" Jim yawned. "…and then, we will sell _you_ to the government. You and your Colonel. Besides, my friend Asa here…" he motioned to a rather small man, "…he's a chemist. And I hear he has a very nice new medicine we would like to try. And you seem like the perfect man to try it on."

Jim noticed he was getting nervous. A beating, severe as it could be, he could handle. But a drug? And… the government… No, that could not happen. But, eight people… and both he and Sebastian were securely tied up. He noticed the men didn't have guns. And only two of them had knives. So, eight almost unarmed guys. If both he and Sebastian could free themselves, there was a chance they could win. But it had to happen fast, before he was beaten bloody. Before they injected him with something.

Now the man leaned in again, "Are you scared, Moriarty? Are you?"

Jim looked up at him, "Look at all the fucks I give."

* * *

An hour later, he was slapped out of unconsciousness for the third time. The beating was vicious. Jim knew that his nose was broken and at least one tooth was loose. He could barely see out of his eyes, and his head ached like hell from the repeated blows. Blood was oozing from his mouth, and breathing was hellish, due to some really serious pain in his ribs. But he still held his head high. Given that it was dangling, but he was nowhere close to breaking. And, when those fucking brutes were busy beating him, he had noticed that Sebastian had started stirring. The man's instincts were never asleep even if their owner was unconscious. He had started tugging on his binds, very quietly. It was an immense amount of work, but he worked, continued, and Jim tried his best to distract the brutes from him by taunting them and insulting them.

But now, since he had passed out three times, they apparently had decided he had enough. Somebody cut his binds, and he was thrown down on the floor. His arms were so weak and trembling he couldn't even lift them. He was rolled onto his stomach, and somebody sat down on him. "Hold his head." Fingers dug into his hair, and his face was pressed into the dirt. Jim bit his lip as he felt the needle in his neck, and the sensation of something entering his body. He felt that he was panicking. He had no idea what this was, and they hadn't told him anything.

They all stepped away from him and watched. Jim felt nothing. He was in pain, yes, excruciating pain, but that was hardly surprising.

And then, somebody laughed. A vicious chuckle. What the fuck was happening?

And then, the leader said, "You are bleeding, Moriarty."

Jim moaned, "Of course… I am… you moron… you… beat me…up."

"I mean from your ass."

Jim froze. Oh God, no, this couldn't be happening, this just could not be happening. But of course, with all the pressure on his body during this last hour, it was clear that it had in fact happened.

They were still laughing. Laughing like mad. About him. That was even worse than the beating. And then the drug kicked in. Suddenly all the sounds were louder, the colours brighter…the pain more intense. Jim started screaming. The laughter became even louder. He dug his nails into the ground. And then suddenly, there was such a loud noise that Jim screamed even louder, curled up into a foetal position and put his hands over his ears. More noises… and then silence. Was he deaf now? Oh God now, was this drug destroying his senses?

But then he felt a hand on his cheek.

Sebastian.

Jim opened his eyes, slowly. "Seb?"

"Yeah. It's me."

"What happened?"

"I shot them."

"How…"

"Bastards didn't see my gun. You were right. Fucking amateurs." Jim knew what gun. Sebastian had a small gun, especially made for him. Jim had joked about how very James Bond it was, and that it was a gun for a girl because of the size, but Sebastian had loved it from the first moment. Because it fit so wonderfully into his army boots. No one could find it if they didn't know where to look for it. He had only forgotten it once, the day he had gone out to kill Sherlock. Which had now probably saved Jim's life. Eight bullets only. "They're all dead. All eight of them." Bless Sebastian, he never missed a shot. Now, he ran the back of his finger soothingly over Jim's cheek. "I say we go home now. I found some car keys on the leader. Do you think you can walk?" Jim shook his head. "Okay. Then I'll just carry you. It might hurt." He hesitated. "Sorry I was too late. But those knots were tough." Jim just bit his lip and shook his head. "Thank you, boss." He scooped Jim up.

Jim looked around. The eight men were spread over the floor, all taken down with a bullet either in their head or heart. "How the hell…"

"Well, those idiots weren't armed. And very slow, come to think of it. We'll go home now, and I will call Ross, and everything is going to be okay. Try not to fall asleep, okay? God knows what that drug in your system does once you don't fight it anymore. Try and stay focused."

"Sure…" A second later he was out.

* * *

**I will try and continue with this again.**


End file.
